


By the Seat of His Pants

by UP2L8



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types
Genre: Fluff and Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-29
Updated: 2020-07-30
Packaged: 2021-03-06 01:20:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,616
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25585051
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UP2L8/pseuds/UP2L8
Summary: Ed had never been about careful planning. Or planning at all, really.
Relationships: Edward Elric/Roy Mustang
Comments: 15
Kudos: 143





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I found the outline for this story on my hard drive and decided to write it because it’s lighter than the stuff I’ve been writing lately. It was inspired by a work I read in another fandom a few years ago, but I can’t remember the name of the story, the author, or the fandom (it definitely wasn’t FMA). I spent a couple of days searching for it but came up empty. If this story seems similar to another story you know, please pass me the details. I’d like to read that story again. 😊

For Ed’s twenty first birthday, Al threw him a party. He booked their favorite local bar and invited everyone they knew.

Literally.

Granny and Winry of course, came in from Resembool. Paninya, old Domenic and his family, and Garfield, from Rush Valley. Sig and Izumi from Dublith. A few of Ed’s colleagues from the university got invites. Ling Yao and Mei Chang had sent their well wishes from Xing with regrets for being unable to attend, but that was okay; the thought counted. Gracia was pleased to be there, with Elicia – who despite being underage was granted entry due to the party being strictly private. People who Ed hadn’t seen since the Promised Day, from as far away as Youswell and Fort Briggs and all points in between showed up. Darius and Henkel dropped in, as did all of the Elrics’ other military friends.

Including General Mustang.

Ed hadn’t seen the man in years. Four, to be exact. It didn’t matter. The bastard had the same effect on Ed now that he’d had almost from the beginning, of puberty at least. Having a crush on someone so far out of his league had been a major pain – no pun intended - but Ed figured he could deal with it now the same way he had all those years ago when he was under the man’s command: by avoiding him if at all possible, and when forced to deal with him directly, with snark and insults working up to raw, red rage.

Unfortunately, Ed’s strategies, such as they were, seemed to have the opposite effect that evening. Despite being careful to avoid him, everywhere Ed turned, Mustang was there. Sniping and insults weren’t working out either; that approach somehow evolved into an interesting give and take sort of thing that Edward actually enjoyed. It was all very confusing. The last thing he needed was for his crush to level up. Nope. This was not good.

So Edward decided that his best course of action would be to drink to excess until he was beyond caring.

The former Fullmetal Alchemist would be the first to admit that calculated planning was an area of expertise in which he had never seriously indulged and was therefore woefully deficient. He was more of a problem solver, which was a skill that he had honed to perfection as a consequence of his impulsive behavior. When one sucked at planning, one naturally became an expert at mitigating the unanticipated results of the aforementioned shitty plans.

Long story short – and fuck anyone who snickered at his perfectly innocent internal choice of words - that was how an alcoholically uninhibited Ed had ended up cornering Mustang by the coat check and ramming his tongue halfway down the man’s throat. He didn’t remember much about the experience, more’s the pity, except that he had the distinct impression that Mustang had very enthusiastically reciprocated.

The next morning Ed woke up in his own bed, alone with the hangover his shitty planning had earned him, virtue regrettably intact.

It was a full two weeks later that the first package arrived, so it didn’t set off any alarm bells in Edward’s head. It was small and fairly inconspicuous, and there was an envelope with his name written in a familiar script. The red ribbons on black wrapping paper caused Ed’s female colleagues to sigh enviously, with knowing smiles that Edward found kind of disturbing.

It was a book. Edward had been searching for this particular text for about a year and a half.

The envelope contained a card that said, “I would love to renew our acquaintanceship. Over dinner, this Saturday. I will pick you up at 8pm sharp. R.”

Sadly, or not, maybe, Edward was distracted from the danger intrinsic to the invitation because he was too busy pouring over the classical arrays in Appendix B to think it through.

The date went very well, at a small, out of the way restaurant that Ed felt comfortable in. Mustang was a sight to behold in a suit and vest, and the conversation was pleasantly relaxed. It was a lot easier to spend time with the bastard when Ed wasn’t trying to actively deny or ignore his feelings, which were turning out to be significantly more complex than simple lust. He honesty liked the man on a personal level. Ed wasn’t sure what to make of it. When he said as much to Al, all he got in response was a wry smile and a head shake.

Two days later there was a large package with flashy paper and a bright red ribbon delivered to Edward’s desk with the morning mail. A hefty box of imported Cretan chocolates that Sasha, Ed’s colleague and office mate, recognized immediately and gushed about loudly. Edward glared at Mustang’s neatly scripted, “Don’t eat them all by yourself. It’s harder to lose weight as you get older. R.” and then shrugged and decided to share.

It was a really big box. Everyone in the alchemy department got some, and when professors from other departments started showing up there was still plenty to go around. Edward didn’t even recognize some of the staff who wandered into his office unashamedly looking for a treat. When he left to teach his first period class, there was still a bunch of mostly strangers lingering in his small shared space moaning inappropriately around mouthfuls of undeniably excellent chocolate. It was bizarre.

Lunch had rolled around before Edward finally got a chance to give Mustang a call, and it occurred to him that although he hadn’t used the bastard’s office phone number in the last five years, it still came easily to mind.

The call went straight to Mustang’ desk, and it wasn’t Ed’s imagination the man sounded distinctly smug. “Why Edward. How nice of you to call.”

“Isn’t it?” Ed’s inner brat supplied. “Thanks for the chocolates, Mustang. The entire university staff enjoyed the shit out of them.”

“You shared them? I’m surprised.”

“Just taking your advice. You’d be the expert on how the human body deteriorates with age.”

There was chocolate again the next day, hand delivered by a grinning Jean Havoc, giant jelly bears the day after, followed by some excellent peanut brittle the day after that.

“Edward. I must say that I rather enjoy your daily telephone calls.” Mustang was smug and annoyingly amused.

“Yeah, well you have to stop sending me all these sweets,” Ed told him, getting straight to the point. “I have half the university staff camped outside my office every morning now. Some of them might be making sexual overtures, but I’m not sure. I don’t have a lot of experience in that area. The guy from the psychology department is kind of cute though.”

There was a thoughtful silence on Mustang’s end while he mulled over this unintentional consequence of his devious plan, whatever the hell it might be. It was also a satisfying sort of silence because Ed had obviously scored a point. He savored the moment.

For about five seconds.

“Edward,” Mustang purred, voice deep and rumbly, which sent a shiver up Ed’s spine. “If that’s a request for some one on one, personal lessons in that area, then I most eagerly accept. Take care of yourself. I’ll talk to you later.”

And then Mustang had had the audacity to call late that evening while Edward _was_ taking care of himself, and helped out by whispering the absolute filthiest suggestions that Ed had ever heard. Really, the man’s timing was unbelievable.

The flamboyant package that appeared on Ed’s desk the next morning was tied with a big pink bow, and sat there conspicuously for an hour before Ed worked up the nerve to open it. He was glad that the usual crowd of candy pirates was off doing their actual jobs at the time, so no one to saw him blush a deep, incandescent red. The ten-inch, anatomically correct vibrator was nestled innocently in red and white tissue, with a note. “Don’t turn it up past five unless you have a spotter. I would be happy to volunteer my services at your leisure,” and “Have fun.”

Ed snatched up the phone and dialed with a ferocity so intense he strained a finger. “Fuck you, Mustang!” he yelled, along with a few astute observations regarding Mustang’s person and character, before slamming the phone down.

Word travelled fast, likely because Sasha couldn’t resist sharing juicy gossip to save her life, and Ed no longer had to worry about knowing smiles or candy moochers.

The second date initially involved a lot of flirting and sexual inuendo, which Mustang gallantly insisted was his way of coaching Ed in how to handle such advances. He was delighted when Ed turned it around with a few dirty pick-up lines he’d learned from Ling, and the conversation had devolved into a series of inappropriate and thoroughly hilarious examples in the pick-up genre. Dark eyes had sparkled with good humor so honest that it left a distinctly warm feeling in Ed’s chest.

And then the bastard had to ruin it by needling Ed about his perfectly normal height, which, by the way, was currently about equal to the asshole’s own.

The fight escalated from there, and the evening ended with Edward snarling, “Fuck off, Mustang!” as he stormed out of the restaurant, seething with righteous fury.

And that, Ed regretfully decided, was that.

It was two days later when Mustang sent the next package. It was small, wrapped in dark blue with a black ribbon, and the break from playful flashiness had Edward wondering at the flutter in his chest. It was an obvious apology. The note attached, when Ed dug up the balls to read it, said simply, “Old habits are hard to break, but I will do my best.”

It also served as a reminder that they had a history, Flame and Fullmetal. They had known each other for years, had worked together under fire and extreme duress. There was a mutual respect between them that had grown from limits tested to the breaking point, when they had not only survived the ultimate in life-threatening, end of the world situations, but triumphed. They’d fought as a team and each knew they could trust the other to have his back when shit got real. Petty slights and stupid arguments didn’t hold much power in the shadow of a truth so profound.

“No candy today?” Sasha asked, looking a bit disappointed. She might have been the mainspring of the gossip machine in their department, but she was also a decent alchemist, a scary competent lecturer, and a genuinely kind person, which ranked her pretty high on Ed’s short list of professional acquaintances that he actually liked.

“No. Just this.” He poked a finger at the small, flat box, eyeing it warily.

Sasha sat on the edge of Ed’s desk, critically examining the object in question. “Looks like someone is serious.” She quirked a small smile and added, “It isn’t the right shape or size for a ring, but he would probably want to give you something like that in person.”

“Oh shit,” Edward groaned, leaning his elbows on his desk and putting his face into his hands.

Yeah, they’d only been on two dates, and despite the drunken kiss, and all the sexual talk and innuendo, they hadn’t been anywhere near a bed – which was telling on Mustang’s part actually, since he had a rep as a shallow, romantic flash-in-the-pan, one night stand, no strings attached kind of guy – but again, they had a history.

And Mustang also had a rep as the kind of guy who cared deeply about the people who trusted and supported him, Edward included. He had proven time and again that he would go to great lengths to ensure the well-being of the people closest to him, regardless of the risks to his own.

Unless Ed was a complete moron – which he admitted he could be when it came to interpersonal relationships - it was kind of, maybe, sort of obvious that Mustang wasn’t just trying to get into Ed’s pants. He probably, maybe, kind of wanted more than that.

Thankfully, the apology wasn’t jewelry. Ed wasn’t sure how he would have handled it.

It was a hand tooled leather bookmark, with the words, ‘We are only two chapters in, but I love where this story is going’ precisely burned in. The asshole had probably transmuted it himself.

Ed was still turning the bookmark over in his hands, enjoying the velvety feel of the deerskin, when his phone rang. He answered with, “I’m still mad at you.”

Mustang laughed. “I know you are.”

For their third date Edward decided that he would beat the Bastard to the punch, take the initiative and invite him out. The venue Ed chose was a small restaurant in the entertainment district that looked like a dingy hole in the wall from the outside but boasted an elegantly laid out dining room on the inside. The chef was the son of a professor in Ed’s department who was working his way through the culinary arts program at George Brown College. Just about everyone at the university frequented the place, and for purely selfish reasons. The kid was a fucking genius as far as Ed was concerned.

Judging from his pleased expression, Mustang agreed. Between the two of them they killed a bottle of wine over dinner, and emerged into the evening crowd of theater goers to walk for a while. Just to be a pain in the ass, Ed bought Roy a spray of flame red Xingese plum blossoms from a street vendor, along with a delicate glass vase etched with a stylized rampant stallion. Instead of taking it as a pot shot at his masculinity or something, Mustang seemed genuinely delighted to accept the gift.

This hypothesis was borne out two days later, when Ed barged into Mustang’s office to take him out to lunch and found the flowers and vase perched proudly on the bastard’s desk.

When the next delivery showed up, Edward couldn’t help but heave a great sigh and admit that he might be a little bit in love with Mustang, who, just for the record, was a douchebag most of the time and a bastard all of the time.

But he was also a hopelessly romantic asshole who thought Ed was worth the trouble, and proved it by putting up with his shit and sending Ed flowers with a carefully worded invitation to dinner at his home that left no doubt that it included the kind of dessert that most people don’t mention in polite company.

“Took us long enough to get here,” Edward said later, nestled in the bastard’s disgustingly comfortable bed with his head resting on Roy’s shoulder and his arm slung possessively across his chest.

Mustang’s rumble of laughter was warm where he nuzzled into Ed’s hair. “That‘s because nothing ever goes according to plan when you are involved.”

Ed snorted. “Planning is overrated. We still ended up where we both wanted to be.”

“That we did. More desert?”

Ed didn’t even have to think about it. Which proved it was his kind of plan.


	2. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still haven’t found that story, despite the suggestion from sapphirekitsune. I’ll keep looking, though, and if I find it, I’ll post a link. Anyway, on to the epilogue. 😊

Ed was pushing thirty when he took the time to stand back and take a good look at himself, and then the world came crashing down around him in an epic, technicolor display, complete with the clashing of titanic cymbals and giant mules diving off cliffs into the ocean.

How the hell was this his life?

He had tenure, people working under him, and a nice, private office with a pleasant view of the campus. He had a pile of research published, as well as two books – one in common use at the Master’s level, and one highly acclaimed textbook suitable for middle to secondary school students. He was the head of the Alchemy Department at Central U, an appointment that had been hotly disputed by some of the older professors who thought his 'tender age' and inability to activate arrays should have exempted him from holding the position. Ultimately they’d had to acknowledge that nobody could come close to him when it came to 1) theoretical knowledge, 2) the practical application of theoretical knowledge, and 3) the sheer genius of his creative synthesis of theoretical applications (except Al, probably, but he wasn’t interested anyway). That battle had been won years ago, though. Now Ed was a highly esteemed scholar, with credentials, and holy shit, what?

Ed also had a wide variety of friends, with interests both similar and not, to hang out with if he so chose. And he did so choose, more often than he would have expected back when he had been an antisocial, argumentative, pain in the ass kid. He liked hanging out with people now. He was very popular with his colleagues, and got invitations to all kinds of functions, which he actually attended, and _enjoyed_. Winry chalked it up to maturity, and Ed getting his temper under control, but Al thought it was because Ed was finally comfortable in his own skin, content with his life at last.

Speaking of whom, Al had settled in Xing a few years ago, but they wrote and called each other often – and Al was happily living his life to the fullest, which was everything Ed ever wanted for him.

Ed’s life had settled into a calm, peaceful normality. What the fuck?

But that wasn’t the worse of it. There was Mustang. The bastard was listed as his primary emergency contact. When he woke up in the morning Mustang was beside him, and it was Mustang he went home to after work. Every. Single. Day.

They had matching silver cuffs around their wrists, each with something significant engraved on the inside – yeah, _cuffs_ , very symbolic - and they had taken that trip to southern Creta after exchanging them, and they were living together, but they had been for years before all that, so, were they, like, _married_?

But okay, Ed could accept that. He loved Mustang; he really did. But. It was just . . . weird. Wasn’t it?

Ed spent the rest of the day trying to figure out how he had moved from point A – brash, unrepentant loose cannon, flying by the seat of his pants from one disaster to the next – to point B – respectability. He was so completely distracted that he got absolutely nothing done, and after reading over the data from the lab for the fifth time without actually seeing it, finally decided to cut his losses and leave early.

When Ed got home, he found Mustang relaxing in the den in his favorite armchair, reading the afternoon paper. No uniform of course, with his shirt sleeves rolled up on his forearms, slippered feet propped up on a hassock, looking good enough to eat. The man’s eyes lit up with pleased surprised.

“You’re home early,” Mustang said with a smile, and the familiar warm feeling at the sound of the man’s voice sent Ed past the tipping point.

It was all so goddamned normal, so fucking _domestic_ ; was this really Ed’s life? He was suddenly plunged so deeply into nostalgia that his head spun, thoughts of desperately reaching for impossible goals and of epic battles that meant life or death spinning through his head. The contrast between the frantic days of his youth and his calm domesticity now hit him like a physical blow. It felt twisted, wrong, an itch he couldn’t scratch that would drive him insane.

Mustang wasn’t yet aware that Ed was having some sort of early onset midlife crisis right there in their cozy living room. He put down the paper and reached over to display a delivery menu he had handy. “I thought we could get dinner from that XIngese place we like, and then spend the evening listening to Masterpiece Theater.”

Ed moaned dejectedly, because what was he doing here? The fact that they were going to spend the evening eating takeout while lounging on the sofa and listening to some crappy radio show – and Ed would be more than happy to do so - was beyond distressing to him.

There was a sense of finality to this that Ed was having trouble wrapping his head around. He had never expected to survive his quest to restore Al, so he’d never considered what life would be like after. Friends and a career and a relationship were never on Ed’s list of things he wanted because he’d never even had a list. His life now wasn’t anything he’d ever expected to have.

Ed was taking too long to respond, and Mustang was beginning to realize that something was amiss.

“We could do something else,” he said, frowning at the takeout menu like it might be the problem. “If that doesn’t s-“

“Roy,” Ed interrupted solemnly, and Mustang looked really concerned now. “I think we should have sex. Right now.”

Ed dropped his briefcase and quickly started shrugging out of his clothes. His aim was to get thoroughly fucked as soon as possible, because it seemed like the only plausible course of action that might fix this mess. Mustang looked surprised for about a fraction of a second before he was smirking, just like in the ‘good’ old days.

“That’s what I love about you,” he purred as he stripped off his clothes. “You always manage to catch me by surprise in all the best ways.”

Ed grinned. The truth was, he caught himself by surprise most of the time as well. Witness his current dilemma.

He’d just have to suck it up and get used to his happily ever after.


End file.
